


Should you betray me

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [46]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angry Warden (Dragon Age), Betrayal, Eamon is the worst, F/M, Gen, Serious Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Eamon Guerrin is recovered, and all of a sudden he's pointing at Alistair becoming king.  Alistair is terrified, but Caitwyn Tabris?  Caitwyn Tabris ispissed.Note:This series is fully drafted.  Updates weekly on Sundays until finished.  Many thanks for reading, kudos, and leaving comments.  <3





	Should you betray me

It was like the rug had just been pulled out from underneath him, except Alistair was still standing and listening to Arl Eamon outline the exact future he’d never wanted, never should have, and never thought could ever happen to him. A gibbering, screaming terror built in the back of his mind. A throne. Him. On a big fancy chair with a horrible hat, and oh Maker this couldn’t be happening.

Get a hold of yourself, Alistair, he admonished himself. This isn’t set in stone yet. What does Cait do? Look for different ways through. Better yet, look at her. Look at everyone, take one bloody second to think instead of reacting like an idiot.

When he made himself look, Alistair noticed how Teagan’s eyebrows refused to settle, and Isolde’s lips were parted with a touch of shock. And Cait. Her lilt had gone clipped even as she forced herself to speak slowly, and her whole body was as poised as a stalking predator. It cheered him, somewhat, to know she was righteously angry.

“Now, that that is settled,” the arl said, his voice still froggy from his long illness, “we shall meet in Denerim and call the Landsmeet. It will take some time to gather all the bannorn, especially with the Blight upon the land. Prepare as best you can, Warden.”

Caitwyn raised her chin, her face a placid mask. But ooooooh, still waters hid nasty surprises. He had to trust Cait wouldn’t throw him under the cart for this. She knew. She knew how little he wanted the throne, knew that he wanted a life with  _ her _ .

Because if he had to choose between a throne and the woman he loved, it was no choice at all.

“We have some lingering promises to keep, but we’ll join you as soon as we can.” There was a pointed lack of obeisance on her part, and it made him want to grin. Managed not to, though. Cait would be proud when he told her that he’d held onto his composure. 

One grey eyebrow rose. The arl must have realized that Cait was fighting him already, but he didn’t put her on the spot for it. “Of course, we must shore up as much support as possible for Alistair beforehand. Alistair?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeees?” He was rewarded with a thinning of Eamon’s lips but an amused eye roll from Teagan.

“Do try to be ready for this.”

“Right. I’ll be ready for the one thing I was told would never happen. Yup, just going to do that in what? Two spans? Not a worry.”

“Please, Alistair, try to take this seriously.” Probably shouldn’t needle a man who had only just been revived from death’s door by a literal miracle, but it was too late now. Heat ran up the back of his neck, but he took heart from the impish curve at the corner of Cait’s mouth.

Alistair ducked his head and took the joking out of his voice. “Oh, I assure you, Arl Eamon. I take this very seriously.”

As seriously as a knife to the heart.

* * *

Denerim.

The place had taken on new levels of dread. The place she had fled twice, and the place where the nobles of Ferelden might try to take something—some _ one _ —away from her. Again.

Their work in the bannorn done, Caitwyn and the other slipped in with the morning market goers once again, but much had changed since they had last been to the city. And not only in terms of the change of seasons. Streets no longer lined by dirty slush, the trees of the city swayed green in the sea breeze that carried the stench of effluence and run-off. The whole city thrummed with a note of fear, of incipient terror. She could sense it the way people moved around her, the way the heartbeat of the city itself beat a staccato rhythm.

The Guerrin estate was spared the worst of it, however, situated so far from the docks and isolated by its walls. Though at the sight of the high walls and well tended lawns, Caitwyn paused.

“Um, Cait, everything alright?” Alistair eyed the estate like a man about to be led to the gallows, but before she could reassure him that yes, she would keep him from the throne he didn’t want, Arl Eamon strode out and welcomed them to his home. Caitwyn held her silence as he ordered his servants about. His elven servants. Their gazes slid over the others, seeing but not, though they all flinched at the sight of her.

She would have to find out what that was about. Later. And perhaps she could learn what happened to her family and the Alienage. If these servants would even speak to her. A few faces were familiar, but no names jumped out at her. A few elves worked as live-in servants. They might not know as much as she would have liked if that was the case.

Still, something about this estate tugged at her memory, and it was not until she saw the enclosed garden that she knew why.

A grin curved her lips as birds bathed in the little decorative fountain.

“Warden Tabris, do you find the garden pleasing? I had it specially designed for my Isolde, to help her with her homesickness for the sights of Orlais.”

“Oh, no, though it’s fine enough I suppose. It just made me remember my mother.”

Eamon offered her a kindly sort of smile. Or it would have been kindly if Caitwyn didn’t want to claw his eyes out. Her companions, one and all, wore various states of shock at her off-hand mention of her mother. The tour continued, but Caitwyn lingered behind, where Zevran and Leliana flanked her.

Alistair was not allowed far from his one-time foster father.

“Caitwyn, are you well?” Leliana asked, her voice pitched low that only elven ears could hear.

“Oh, I’m quite well, not a worry.” A sharp grin worked its way onto her face, and she didn’t even try to suppress it. Though she did quell the urge to bounce on her toes.

“Something has no doubt lightened your disposition, my dear. Would you care to share it with us?” Zevran turned a curious gaze on her, and that only encouraged her desire to throw her head back and laugh. This was too perfect.

“Thought this place was familiar when I first saw it, and wouldn’t you know it? Mama and I broke in here when I was, oh, fourteen. Stole from him already, you see.” Down the hallway, the arl pointed out some suit of armor or portrait or something suitably nobby. “I aim to steal from him again.”

“I understand why you dislike him, but it seems unwise to—” Caitwyn’s snort interrupted Leliana’s indignant warning.

“I’m not going to steal any _ thing _ , Leliana.” Alistair dragged his feet beside the older man, his shoulders rounded forward. As if he could sense her watching him, he glanced over his shoulder and offered her a weak wave of his fingers. She grinned back at him as brightly as she could. “You see,” she said as Zevran and Leliana followed her gaze, “I’m going to steal Alistair.”


End file.
